


Meaning

by kakashikrazy256



Series: Canon Compliant Snapshots [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chapter 15: The Believer, Episode: s02e07 The Believer, Gen, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers, boba could hear din's brain frying with nerves from across the room and was like, i want them to date s o badly, okayyy its painting time, two bros chilling on the Slave I doing arts and crafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28008807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashikrazy256/pseuds/kakashikrazy256
Summary: "You want to paint your armor. Right now.""I'm starting to think you are wearing a hole in my ship floor on purpose. Sit. Down."An interlude between Chapter 14 and 15
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett
Series: Canon Compliant Snapshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052624
Comments: 26
Kudos: 653





	Meaning

**Author's Note:**

> Just me being 👁👄👁 every second of screen time Boba had this episode because lord he was bringing it to the table. Go off king, treat yourself to some nice repainted armor, you deserve it.
> 
> I think he and Din probably talked a bit while he was painting.
> 
> Also, I still can’t figure out if Din knows who Boba is or he’s literally just head empty, only my son matters. I’m going with the latter cuz it’s more fun that way. And Din does seem like the guy to know shit about fuck :^) 
> 
> Enjoy :)

It takes Din eight paces to go from one end of the tiny kitchenette to the other. 

At this point he knows the distance by heart, making the sharp turn away from the ship’s wall and back towards the counter at the other side without breaking stride. 

Karthon is still a good few hours away, even after they had made the jump to the nearest system from their stop at Nevarro.

Din can faintly hear Cara’s voice over the rumbling engines. She had jumped on board the moment he mentioned the kid, brushing aside any possible conflicts with the New Republic position she had undertaken. 

Din feels a twinge of warmth in his chest at that. It’s strange to know he has people out there besides fellow _Mando’ade_ , that care enough about the things important to him to risk it all. He clenches his fists, listening to the leather creak. The last time people did that for him, they had lost their home, Creed, and some even lost their lives. He can only hope that this time things will be different. 

That momentary distracting thought is quickly replaced by his current game plan. Which is looking rather bare-bones at the moment. They would land in Karthon, and Cara would break Mayfeld out. Then...then what? What if Mayfeld decides to be difficult, even under the threat of force? What if Mayfeld has no idea how to find Gideon? Where would Din turn to next? He’d be stuck in a dead-end without any leads. What would he do then?

He shakes his head, making another turn. There isn’t time for this. He can’t lose it right now, he can’t afford to. The kid can’t afford it either. He has to...has to stay calm; he tells himself, taking a deep breath and turning around again. Mayfeld would hopefully have some idea of where to find Gideon’s ship, then Fett said he’d take care of the rest. 

The ship shakes a bit, and he rights his balance with little trouble. The empty container on the small dining table teeters near the edge, and Din rushes to pick it up. Fennec had brought Cara and him down to the small kitchen earlier, pointedly pulling out two small ration meal kits before grabbing two more to bring back to the cockpit. 

He had sat patiently while Cara chewed on her meal and they discussed plans.

“I’m worried.” He had admitted then, just as surprised as Cara had looked. It was a rare thing for his true feelings to slip, yet he had blurted it out while toying with the wrapping of his uneaten rations. There had been so many thoughts swirling in his head. The fury at Gideon could only do so much to distract him before these unwanted emotions started to grate at his nerves. 

“It will be fine. You know I have your back.” Cara had swallowed, taking a sip of water before continuing, “Besides, I would’ve been a lot more worried if I hadn’t known you’ve got Fennec Shand and _the_ Boba Fett on your side. Didn’t even have a chance to ask you how you managed that one.” 

“Fennec is a very capable combatant...and Fett seems to handle himself well in a fight.” Din had agreed. He blinked when Cara choked on her water.

“Are you oka-”

“Seems to handle himself well?” She cut in, “Do you not know who **Boba Fett** is?” She looked incredulous. He just tilted his head, and Cara rolled her eyes.

“A rock Mando, under a rock! Can’t take you anywhere. Alright, we’ve got time for a history lesson.” 

She then proceeded to tell him about Boba Fett, one of, if not the most, notorious bounty hunter across the galaxy. Some stories seemed too insane to be true, and Din had sat in stunned silence as she weaved together rumors with truths. 

Cara had finished her tale and meal, tossing her containers and wrappers. She got up, patting him on his pauldron.

“We’ll get your kid back.” She had said with so much certainty that Din honestly felt like she couldn’t be wrong. He could only bring himself to nod, chest feeling warm again. 

“I’m gonna head back up. Fennec said she had some sharpshooter stories to tell me, and something tells me they’re not gonna be boring.” She grinned toothily, giving him a mock salute.

“Don’t forget to eat!” She had called back before climbing up the ladder and he audibly snorted at that before tearing into his rations. 

He had managed to get through his meal, gulping down water like he hadn’t seen it in ages (which if he thinks about it, is probably true). Then the thinking had started up again, forcing him to his feet as he paced and paced. 

Din sighs, grabbing the empty containers and tossing them into the trash. He resumes his walk, trying to imagine Moff Gideon’s ship. Fett had said it’s an Imperial cruiser, so they could probably get a general idea of the layout before infiltration. 

He turns.

They’d have to find a way to secure the kid before things got ugly. The last thing he wants is for the Moff to just hightail off the scene with Grogu at the first hint of a frontal assault. That would mean a stealth approach, but how would they even accomplish that? The cruiser would surely have sensors or at least be on high alert for possible invasions. 

He turns.

He’d have to put a lot of faith in Fett’s ability to keep their approach hidden. The Razor Crest had been useful for that one job because of her age, could this Firespray do the same? 

He turns.

But it had taken that bastard droid’s precise programming to execute the perfect landing. Could Fett do the same? If the stories are anything to go by, that shouldn’t be a problem. But can Din just put all his faith in one man? Even if it’s _the_ Boba Fett.

He tur–

“Sit down.” 

The sudden voice nearly makes Din jump. He stops his pacing, turning his head towards the one who had spoken.

Fett is standing at the bottom of the ladder, helmeted head tilted towards him. Din’s gaze trails down to stare at a metal box in one of Fett’s hands and a folded tarp in the other. 

“What are you doing down here?” Din asks, turning to fully face the other man. Fett doesn’t answer; he simply walks forward until he reaches the table. He places the box on one of the chairs, unfolding the tarp over the table before moving the box on top. 

“It has been many years since my armor has seen repairs. Fennec and your Rebel friend will keep the ship on course.” Fett simply states, lifting the lid of the box. Din can see the bottles of paint and chemical solutions from where he stands. 

"You want to paint. Right. Now." Din enunciates each word, feeling more and more out of his depth with each second that goes by. Is he dreaming? 

"I'm starting to think you are wearing a hole on my ship's floor on purpose. Sit. Down." Fett parrots his cadence, jerking his head towards the other chair at the table. 

Din opens his mouth, a million things on the tip of his tongue. ‘ _Are you fucking kidding me?’_ at the forefront of it all. 

Then, Fett removes his helmet, and Din’s mouth goes dry, his body stiff. On habit, he averts his eyes under his own helmet. He had first met Fett when he had been helmetless, yet seeing him remove one still feels so _wrong_. He stays rooted in place.

“I know the Sarlacc didn’t do much for my looks, but I could’ve sworn it wasn’t all that bad.” 

Din lifts his head just in time to see Fett roll his eyes.

“I don’t bite, for fuck sakes. Sit down, _haar’chak_ !” Fett shakes his head, turning his attention back to his armor. The _mando’a_ makes Din’s heart jump. It’s been too long since he’s heard the tongue from anything besides his own mutterings. 

He watches Fett set the helmet gently on the tarp. A small smile stretches over Fett’s lips, pulling at the old scars on his skin. Fett is right. It isn’t that bad at all. The Sarlacc had not dulled the man’s features. His face, familiar yet unique in its ferocity and clever expressions, is one that Din finds himself staring at more and more as he slowly comes to terms with the helmet removal. Jango Fett had been a foundling. And Boba Fett….Fett’s gloved hand caresses the antenna with a fondness that reminds Din of his _buir_ when he had taught Din the importance of armor care. Jango Fett had been a foundling. And Boba Fett...is his father’s son. 

Din swallows audibly, moving to take the seat opposite of Fett. 

His hands lay uselessly on his lap, afraid of shifting the tarp. Fett sits heavily in his own chair with a loud exhale. 

“There, isn’t that better than walking around, destroying my ship?” Fett fiddles with his arm guards, peeling them off and placing them beside the helmet; small flakes of paint fall with each movement. 

“I’m not destroying your ship.” Din scowls, rubbing at his thumbs. Fett hums as he unlatches the chest plate and pauldrons. 

“You don’t exactly have a good track record with that, you’ll excuse me if I’m skeptical.” 

Din takes a moment to breathe, letting the bait sit still in the water. He’s left more exhausted than indignant and he lets it bleed into his voice, “...You really care about this ship.” 

He can practically hear the gears turning in Fett’s head as he re-evaluates his previous takes on Din. 

“Yes.” Din’s glad that Fett at least sounds a bit apologetic for the low barb. “The _Slave I_ belonged to my father.” Fett continues slowly and carefully, leaning forward to remove his knee guards. The full set of armor is now placed on the table before the two of them. 

Din files away the Firespray’s name, pondering the words. 

“It’s an old ship, you’ve maintained it well.” And Din truly means it. The insides are immaculate, the hull integrity strong, and the weapons system seems ready and deadly. A lot of effort, time, and _dedication_ went into the _Slave I_ , and it shows. He is suddenly very aware of the tiny shifter control knob pressing against his hip. He feels cold.

Fett takes the compliment with a nod, reaching for the metal box. He pulls out a bottle of a clear liquid and several rags. 

“My father left me his armor and his ship. It has taken me years to recover both. But now, they are mine once again.” Fett wets a rag with the paint stripper before handing it to Din. Fett takes the helmet in hand gingerly, a soft smile gracing his face again. He begins wiping the dull green paint away.

“I’m glad. They are rightfully yours.” Din grabs a yellow pauldron, starting the slow process of removing the old paint with the wetted rag. His gloved fingers hover over the painted Mythosaur, the sigil’s pattern chipped and mostly faded. He presses down with the cloth. 

They sit in silence, rubbing at the armor. The quiet is periodically broken by the faint sounds of Fennec and Cara’s conversations in the cockpit above, but it soon becomes background noise after the first fifteen minutes. Din is glad for the relatively mindless work. His hands move in small circles, and he watches the paint chips soften and dissolve into the rag. Soon enough, the pauldron glimmers silver, his own helmeted head reflecting back at him. 

He pushes the pauldron across the table, chancing a glance up at Fett for the first time since they had started. 

The other man had finished pulling out the bigger dents in the cleaned helmet and had just begun painting it with a thick brush coated in a deep, mossy-green color. Fett's eyes shine wide and brightly, an intense focus behind them. A pink tongue peeks out occasionally to lick at chapped lips as he maneuvers the brush around trickier angles. 

Din grabs for an arm guard, repeating the same process to remove the old paint. 

He gets through both arm guards and half the chest plate before Fett switches out for the red paint. His movements become even more precise, hand moving steady and calculated. The red surrounds the visor without bleeding into it, lines straight and perfect. These are the hands of an experienced _beroya_ , one that knows exactly how to incapacitate his prey and is yet still graceful enough to dance around becoming prey himself. 

Din finishes cleaning every piece of armor by the time Fett is done detailing his helmet, finally setting it down to dry. 

“It looks new,” Din says, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. He can hardly believe that the knocked-up faded helm from before is the same as the one before him right now. To think the infamous Boba Fett can be so gifted with both weapon and brush. 

“Why green?” Din asks. 

Fett picks up the left pauldron, selecting a new brush to dip into a jar of paint. It's darker than the old pale yellow. Din's not sure if it's a deep gold or orange. 

“What do you know of armor coloring?” Fett asks after he glides the brush down to make the first stroke of color on the piece. 

Din thinks back to the clan he had been rescued into, before the Covert. His rescuer, his _buir,_ had a full set of blue armor. It had been a shock of color that stood stark against the grey skies and stale ash on the day his life fell to pieces. Din had clutched onto that armor for dear life as he was whisked away from that dreaded bunker. He vaguely remembers different colored armor and asking his _buir_ about it. He had been told the color of his armor is a very special decision he would have to make when the time is right. 

He never did have a chance to think more on the matter. After the chaos of the Purge left him once again uprooted and lost, he had joined the Covert in Nevarro. Settled under the cover of shadows and sewage, he never got a good view of his fellow _Mando’ade_ nor stayed long enough to become close with any of them. He had mostly been their primary _beroya_ , ducking in and out with goods and credits. The sweetmeats he occasionally brought back did make him pretty popular amongst the _ade_ , but not so much with their _buire_. He thinks Paz’s armor may have been blue as well. 

“I know the colors have different meanings.” He hazards, realizing he had taken a bit too long in forming his answer. 

Fett nods, pulling back the brush to admire the bright pauldron. 

“Paint sets well on beskar.” He hums, reaching into the box to pull out a stencil. Din watches him place it against the dried pauldron. “Not all Mandalorians paint their armor. But those that do, choose colors that best represent what having that armor means to them.” He brings a thin brush dipped in white paint to the stencil and draws.

Din reaches out towards the helmet without touching, feeling Fett’s gaze on him, “Green, red...orange?” 

“Duty, honoring a parent and…” Fett lifts the stencil off carefully, flipping the bright pauldron around to show Din the complete Mythosaur with its sharp horns and tusks, “ _shereshoy_.” He says, lips curved slightly upwards. 

Once again, Fett has an uncanny knack for finding Din’s eyes through the darkened visor. Their gazes meet briefly, and Din dips his head down to stare at Fett’s discarded helmet. 

“You are still bothered by the fact that I remove my _buy’ce_.” Fett notices and picks up the helm in one hand, judging his own craftsmanship. 

Din sits up straighter, puffing his chest out, ready to go on the defense. He had felt the familiar heat rise to his face when he met Kryze and her group on Trask. A mix of anger, embarrassment, and outright terror at the thought of being the odd one out. Of being the one in the wrong for holding so tightly onto the beliefs he has had drilled into his brain since he was thirteen, taking on the _verd'goten._

“Are you going to tell me I’m from a cult too?” Din says, feeling his shoulders deflate. But Fett isn’t rolling his eyes at him nor is he giving him that half-hidden smirk that Kryze had seemed so fond of. His face is blank from any visible disgust or annoyance. Rather, Din thinks Fett looks calm and open. He leans forward, a small sliver of hope growing in his tight chest.

Fett shakes his head with a scoff, grabbing an arm guard piece and the red brush. 

“The thing about the Mandalorian Creed is that it is a code of honor that is uniquely yours.” Fett begins, eyes focused on the paint job, “There have been many debates over its meaning. Helmet on, helmet off, warrior codes, pacifism, true _Mando’ade,_ and _aruetiise,”_ Fett spits the word out bitterly, _“aruetiise_ who have infiltrated and twisted the _Resol'nare_.” 

Fett pauses with a long and deep sigh, “All these differences have led to pointless conflicts and bloodshed over a vision that should have been celebrated for its diversity, not resented.” 

“But tell me, _beroya_...” Fett’s direct referral to Din makes him stiffen, breath bated as he waits.

“What is the single most important thing to the future of the _Mando’ade_ ? Something that even the _Manda'yaim_ cannot give us?” 

Din thinks of large green ears and warm brown eyes. He thinks of small hands and happy giggles. He thinks of the little metal ball sitting in his utility belt right now.

“Foundlings.” He breathes. 

Fett gives him a nod, showing Din his first unrestrained smile freely. 

“One day you will have to decide what exactly your Creed means when it comes to the future of the ones that have become indispensable to you. And then you will have to choose. Which one are you willing to make compromises for?” 

Din opens his mouth, but no words come to him. Fett’s sentences swirl in his mind, and it hurts to think. He swallows, bringing his hands together in a tight clasp to avoid trembling. 

“Is this what you wished you could’ve asked your _buir_?” Din whispers, head bowed. 

Fett doesn’t answer, turning back to his painting. Din sneaks a glance up at the other man. The infamous Boba Fett sits with a soft smile on his scarred face that he shares with thousands of millions, eyes old and tired, but somehow at peace with all that has happened in the past four decades. 

Din relaxes, leaning back in his chair. He stifles a groan at how his bones creak with the movement. He blinks sleepily at the smooth strokes of the brush against beskar, watching the calloused hands move back and forth. He imagines his own hands holding one dipped in an unidentified color and brushing it over his own metallic armor. 

It would be a good color. Fitting. He promises to himself.

The next time he’s aware, it is to the sound of his own helmeted head hitting against his pauldron with an echoing clang in his ears. Din sits up at attention, blinking blearily across the table. 

Fett is sipping from a container of water. His armor lies on the tarp-covered table, vividly colored and dried. Each piece looks as if they had just come off the forge, new and ready. Fett himself had changed into a version of his dark robes from before. Din resists the urge to reach under the helmet to rub at his eyes. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he had been until now. He had thought the short nap from Tython to Nevarro had been sufficient. Clearly, he had overestimated his ability to hold off a crash. All the more reason to get his shit together before they got off the ship to get Mayfeld.

“We are in orbit above Karthon. Your Rebel friend should be able to make contact with the ex-Imperial the moment we find a space to land.” Fett seals the liquid container before reaching for his armor. He puts each piece on with a sort of reverent care that captures Din’s entire attention. Once the final latch of the arm guard is in place, Fett reaches for his helmet. When it’s in place, he turns to face Din.

Din forgets to breathe for a moment.

The armor is vibrant and holds a presence. Fett’s broad frame fills it well, leaving an imposing silhouette under the kitchen’s muted lights. 

This man is Boba Fett. The most feared and skilled _beroya_ in the entire galaxy. 

Din reaches up to touch the cool metal of his own _buy’ce._

“I…” He starts, swallowing when Fett turns to regard him, “I think I would like to have mine painted...someday.” 

Din didn’t know when that day would be, or hell, he didn’t even know what color. But he could imagine, _maker_ he could imagine it. 

Fett tilts his helmet, and Din swears he can hear the smile in the gesture. 

“When that day comes, I think I have a good collection of paints for you to look through and get started with.” 

Din can’t help but tilt his helmet with a smile of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando’ade - Mandalorians/Children of Mandalore  
> Haar’chak - Damn it  
> Mando’a - Mandalorian language  
> Buir(e)- Parent(s)  
> Beroya - Bounty hunter  
> Ade - Children  
> Buy’ce - Helmet  
> Shereshoy- "Lust for life and much more"  
> Verd’goten - Mandalorian coming of age ceremony  
> Aruettise - outsiders  
> Resol'nare - Mandalorian Six Tenets  
> Manda’yaim - The Planet of Mandalore  
> Second Star Wars fic, might be getting the hang of things. Or I'm failing miserably OTL
> 
> I have never written or read much fic about Boba before, I hope I didn't fuck up his character :'D *me squinting at photos of his pauldrons trying to decide if it's orange, gold, or yellow* I thought it was yellow at first but with every new image and gif, it looks more orange. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it, kudos and comments are appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kkrazy256) if you want to chat or support me in other ways <3


End file.
